


I Won't Let You Destroy Me

by RedBubbles



Series: Rival Bands [3]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Cocaine, Drug Use, F/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, dfab!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBubbles/pseuds/RedBubbles
Summary: You've craved 2D since you'd last walked from the hotel room, but you've told yourself that you haven't. He's just a hook up, a good shag when he's there, and nothing else when he's not.But that truth is beginning to become a lie, and it's not one that 2D is going to let you believe, so you have to choose; accept the truth, or live the lie, and leave because of it.





	I Won't Let You Destroy Me

**Author's Note:**

> I had to add in a little background with the readers band, Poor Man's Grenade, just because it would have been a little difficult to get around all that, what with them playing a gig and all. 
> 
> This is the third instalment of the Rival Bands series, so, as always, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> [Check out my imagines blog on Tumblr (2d-imagines)](https://2d-imagines.tumblr.com)

You glare at the man opposite you as he rocks back and forth in his seat with laughter, guitar on his lap and an unlit cigarette in his fingers. He throws his head back and shrieks with mirth, his mouth wide open so you can see the fillings in the his back teeth and the stud on his tongue. You take a drag of the cigarette between your fingers, glaring him down, and then look away as you tap the ash off the end.

“Thanks, Freddy,” you mutter, “good to know you find my suffering so hilarious,”

The man leans forward and slaps your knee, cradling his guitar in the crook of his elbow and putting the cigarette between his teeth.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry it’s just…jesus, one hundred and fifty quid? To shag you? You could pull _literally_ any guy, and you went with a guy who paid you?”

You growl and flick ash at him.  
“He didn’t pay me,” you mutter, “it was a bet. One that I won, and I didn’t take the money anyway,”

“That’s too bad,” he says, tossing you a cigarette, “then you wouldn’t have to rely on me to do your fag runs,”  
You stick your tongue out at him as you bring a lighter to the end of the cigarette.  
“I only make you do it because I always get ID’ed. And when I hand over ID I either get recognised or glared at,”  
Freddy rolls his eyes and pats your knee.  
“Of course, darling, of course,”

You shake him off irritably.  
“Gerroff me,” 

He makes a show of sitting back and puffing on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out of his nose, and then picks up his guitar, plucking a few out of tune strings. He watches you as he does, strumming a few random chords. His gaze begins to make you feel uncomfortable, and the slow smile that creeps across his face doesn’t help.

“What?” you ask finally, tapping the ash off the end of your fag. He just watches you with that same grin, and and then whips his cigarette from his lips, nodding toward you.  
“Is that a hickey?"

Your cheeks burn as you tug the hem of your sleeveless shirt up to cover any hickeys that may or may not be on your neck.  
“Tune up your guitar. I won’t let you on stage sounding like that,”

Freddy waggles a finger at you.  
“Ah, no changing the subject. That from your rival turned lover?"  
You glare at him and turn the collar up despite the studs that dig into your neck.  
“Sod off. He’s not my lover,”  
“But is it from him?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you glare at him.

“It’s not from him, no. I haven’t seen him in…” you count on your fingers back to the date you’d been at that punk club, “almost a month,”  
Freddy whistles.  
“That long? Who’s that from then?”  
You shrug and take another drag on the cigarette.  
“Living the rockstar life, baby. You expect me to remember?”

Freddy scoffs and shakes his head at you.  
“Slag,”

You hope you can just smoke your cigarette in peace and then get to doing some vocal warm ups or maybe practicing a few songs, but Freddy jumps in before you can even raise the cigarette back to your lips.  
“Where’d you say you saw him again?”  
“The Burning Eagle,” you reply, “you know that seedy punk club where we met Parker?”  
Freddy nods.  
“That place isn’t seedy. It’s just lousy with smoke and hair dye,”

You shrug and take a drag on your cigarette.  
“I saw him there. He texted me and then came over,”  
Freddy grins and raises an eyebrow.  
“What a puller,”

You kick his shin halfheartedly.  
“Like you’ve been with better guys,”

He shrugs and leans forward, putting his cigarette out on the table. He nods towards the cigarette in your fingers.  
“You know, you’re not gonna be able to sing too well if you smoke right now,”

You take a slow drag on it and make a show of exhaling the smoke, just to spite him. He laughs and shrugs, and then reaches into his pocket.  
“I’m just saying, why not take a drag on something to smooth your throat out?”

He shows you the joint between his fingers. You take a long drag on your cigarette, burning it down to the end.

“Ok, one, that thing has been in your pocket for at least 3 hours, because you sure as fuck didn’t roll it when I was here,”

Freddy rolls it back and forth between his fingers.  
“Your point?"

You stub your cigarette out on the edge of the table and stand up, straightening your jacket.  
“I don’t take depressants before shows, you know that,”

“Ok, no depressants,” he says smoothly, putting the joint between his lips and taking a clear bag from his pocket and tossing it to you, “stimulants,”

You catch the bag and open it, studying the white powder within.  
“Jesus, fuck,” you whisper, “you’re like a walking drug shop,”

You dip the tip of your finger in and tasting it. Strong, tangy, unpleasant.

Freddy winks at you as he lights the tip of the joint.  
“Stimulants,”

You sit back down on the sofa and tip some of the stuff onto the coffee table in front of you. Your hand goes to your pocket but Freddy already holds his credit card and a £20 note out to you. You take them and grin at him as you make 3 lines with the cocaine.

“Living the rockstar life,” you say, tossing his card back. He catches it lazily between two fingers and grins at you.

“Living the rockstar life.”

\-------------------------

You bounce up and down on the balls of your feet, and a wide grin on your face that you just can’t seem to get rid of.

Parker sits on one of the backup speakers, swinging his legs back and forth as he quietly tunes his guitar. Charlie paces up and down, a drumstick twirling in one hand, a bottle of beer in the other. 

Everything seems so sharp and clear. You can hear every reverberating _twang_ of the guitar strings, see the smoke rushing from Freddy’s lips even in the darkness. You can practically _taste_ the music and electricity in the air, see every swirling mote of dust as it falls slowly to the ground. 

You lean forward a little, still grinning like a madman, and peer from out behind the massive support blocks that hold up the ceiling and the sky. The entire stadium is charged with adrenaline and you can feel it seeping into your blood stream. Involuntarily, you leap into the air with a loud whoop, earning a few confused glances from some support staff as they rush about doing various tasks. 

You look at the stage again, beaming as you see the huge words project onto the screen at the back of the stage, and hear the crowd scream and whoop in response.

GORILLAZ X POOR MAN’S GRENADE MASHUP CHARITY GIG

You go back to bouncing on the balls of your feet, and squint at the other side of the stage. The set up reminds you so much of that first battle of the bands gig. That was the last time you and 2D had been on stage together. The last time you’d played with Gorillaz. You burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles as you remember the fight Murdoc and Parker got into after the show because Murdoc had stood on Parker’s foot.

A hand descends on your shoulder, and you’re shaken gently. You turn your head to look up at Charlie, who stares back, one eyebrow raised.

“What are you on?” 

You laugh and turn to face him, spreading your fingers out and wiggling them.  
“Stardust,” you whisper, “pure white magical _stardust_ ,”

Charlie swears under his breath and huffs.  
“Really? You’re doing a gig while high? _Really_?”

You wave your hand at him and stick your tongue out.  
“I’m _fine_. Here, listen-“ you break out into a melody from one of your songs, hitting the high notes with just enough intensity to reassure Charlie of your sobriety. He clamps his hand over your mouth.

“Save it for the stage, mockingbird, we’re about to go on,”

You spin around, and watch as 2D emerges first from the opposite side of the stage. You’re lucky that Charlie seizes the collar of your jacket, because you almost go racing onto the stage to meet him. He’s closely followed by Noodle, who carries her guitar over her shoulder, then Russel, then Murdoc, who’s met with his own wave of cheering and whistling. 

Somewhere even through your drug-addled brain, you’re reminded of how you drew 2D in all those other times. He responded to you playing hard to get. For a man to which everything came easily, especially girls, being denied something he desperately wanted just seemed to get him going. Charlie’s grip on your collar loosens as you take a deep breath, clear your throat, and roll your shoulders back.

“You alright?” he whispers in your ear. You watch as 2D steps up in front of one of the microphone, runs a hand through his hair, and grins at the crowd. The lights glittering on his skin make him look like some kind of ethereal creature; not quite human enough to be corporeal. 

“Oh yes,” you reply in a sultry purr, and then stride out onto the stage. 

You’re met with a furious storm of applause, and you look out to a crowd that’s invisible to you thanks to the blaring lights coming from all directions. Even so, their thunderous reaction sends adrenaline firing through your veins, and you can almost feel the serotonin and dopamine swirling through your brain, the feeling only increased by the thrum of cocaine in your system. You turn your gaze to 2D, pleased to see that he’s watching you. You toss your hair over your shoulder and turn sharply toward your microphone, spreading your legs a little and throwing your head back as Freddy’s guitar screams with feedback. 

You can feel 2D’s gaze on you, hot and searing, and you chance a look at him, holding his gaze just enough to flick your tongue across your lips and snap your teeth at him. The crowd screams even louder as you look back towards them and beam wildly. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you purr into the microphone, listening to your voice echo around the massive stadium, “you know how much we wanna give you a show. But-“ you pause for effect, and look over at 2D again, rolling your neck around on your shoulders, “seeing as this is a _charity_ event, I think it only fair we let Gorillaz have a little moment in the spotlight, eh?”

You grin even wider as the crowd screams with laughter and cheers. From somewhere behind you, you hear Murdoc yell “FUCK OFF”, but you give it little thought. 

2D keeps his eyes on you. This is all planned, of course, made to rile the crowd up, get their hearts pumping and their breath racing, but the heart and feeling you put into it…you can tell with one look just how literally he’s taking all this. You pucker up your lips at him as the first bars of Momentz booms throughout the stadium, and blow him a kiss. 

You notice little else throughout the song, only looking away from 2D when he looks at you, letting your gaze wander around, even letting it linger on Murdoc; just to tease him. 

As the final note of the song dies away, you step back up to the microphone, gripping it in both hands.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, sluts and slags, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…” you can hear Parker tapping out the first few drum beats of one of your more upbeat songs, and then roar into the microphone, “WE ARE POOR MAN’S GRENADE!”

\-------------------------

Two sets of drums. Two sets of bass lines. Two sets of guitars strumming and riffing and screeching. 2D singing the back up vocals as you hit every note with precision, riling the crowd up, getting them moving, shouting, screaming, cheering. 

Everything is sparkling. You can see the individual faces of every single person in the crowd. Somewhere in the middle, a girl’s glow in the dark face paint lights her up like a beacon. A boy with glitter smeared across his cheeks sparkles at you brighter than a diamond. A boy with bright pink hair in a mosh pit a few feet into the crowd catches your eye, holds it, and then lets it wander again.

You feel amazing. You feel unstoppable. You look at 2D and see the sweat shimmering across his brow, see his bottomless eyes swallowing the light and drinking in the sight of you swaying your hips and tossing your hair and harmonising with him and singing his back up vocals and your own vocals. He watches your every movement, mirroring it. 

Like a complicated dance, every step you take finds a mirror in 2D, every note you hit has a partnering note, every twitch of your hips brings out an answering step.

You look back at Freddy, and he grins at you, and shakes his head, and then looks at Noodle, throwing his head back and laughing as she upstages him, fingers flying over the strings faster than you can keep up. You look at Charlie, his head whipping back and forth in time to the music as he loses himself in the complicated drum rhythms, not even looking at Russel but managing to synchronise with him perfectly. You look at Parker, who’s flashing dark looks and challenging grins at Murdoc, the two struggling to out play each other but still remain in harmony. 

You look at 2D. You see yourself through his eyes; wild, chaotic, uninhibited. 

You move, he moves. You leap, he leaps. You smile, he smiles back, wider and with a message behind his eyes, a message your brain can’t grasp onto long enough to decipher.

His eyes are speaking to you, louder than words could. 

_I want you._

Every movement feels like silk, and you seem to be floating, over the heads of the crowd, each sound ringing in your ears long after its faded away. 

You sing and strut and dance across the stage. 

You are truly in your element.

You love everything. You’re so in love with the world and existing and being in this moment, right here, with the sounds that are too loud and the lights that are too bright and 2D so close and so gorgeous that you could reach out and touch him and wish you could never stop.

You love it so much, that when the first few seductive bars of She’s My Collar boom across the stage and into the crowd, you turn to 2D, swaying your hips in time to the heavy bass. He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, but his main focus is on singing. 

Your part is coming. Your part is coming and you know that when you sing it, it’ll ring with every emotion you’re feeing right now and everything you want to say to 2D.

You flick your hair back as you draw closer to 2D, holding the microphone close to your lips.

“ _I’m yellow, he was blue_ ” you sing, and as you do, you reach up and run your hand through his hair, “ _it’s nothing that he could hide,_ ”

You twirl away from him then, and shut your eyes, singing in an almost sickly sweet, breathy tone.

“ _We made a green meadow, whenever we would collide_ ”

You can feel 2D behind you, feel the heat radiating off his body as he stands behind you. His hands are itching to wrap around your waist and draw you against him. 

“ _I died a thousand times_ ” you sing softly, glancing over your shoulder at him, I did what I had to do”

He’s leaning in, his lips are almost on yours. You half tilt your head, as though leaning in to kiss him back, but then spring away at the last second, suppressing a giggle.

“ _Hey that’s just how it goes_ ,” 

He follows you, you knew he would, drawn to you like a magnet. He’s watching you with a gaze that’s almost predatory. 

“ _I’m still coming back to you_ ,”

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to kiss you again. He simply brushes past you, his hand closing loosely around your wrist for a moment as he pulls you close and whispers,  
“Damn fucking right you are,” 

And then he’s gone, and for once, you’re the one left scrambling to catch up with him. The feeling exhilarates you, makes your heart race and a wide grin adorn your face. 

You’re always coming back to him, and this time is no different.

\-------------------------

Charlie comes over to you as you’re milling around backstage after the gig, pouring a bottle of water over your face. He grabs your chin and tilts your head back, squinting into your eyes. You let him, gazing up at him, almost in a daze.

You’re coming down, but not in a negative way. It feels more like you’re floating down, gliding on velveteen wings, your feet barely brushing the ground beneath you. Your landing will be soft, gentle, graceful. 

You’re suddenly aware of how dry your mouth is, and you lick the moisture off your lips.

“You have really pretty eyes,” you tell him, and he lets go of your chin, shaking his head like a mother to a child.  
“We were playing for almost 3 hours, and you were sweating like a pig out there. How much did you take? A metric tonne?”

You roll your eyes and roll your shoulders.  
“Ask Freddy, he had the stuff,”

Charlie rolls his eyes and pats your head as though you’re an unruly puppy. You snap your teeth at him jokingly, and then look around.

“Where’d everybody go?” you ask. 2D and the others had left to the other side of the stage, so he's is no where to be seen. You’re desperate to meet up with him just once more before the end of tonight. You don’t want him to slip through your fingers again. The thought of how many girls he’s been with since your last encounter makes you shudder.

Then, you think about why you care. Those thoughts are enough to make your skin prickle uncomfortably, and your stomach twist as though you’ve looked over the edge of a very high precipice. 

Charlie is talking to you. You watch his lips move with a sort of detached fascination. 

“Can we go now?” you ask out of the blue, cutting off his sentence. He stares at you, open mouthed, and then snaps it shut.  
“Yes, jesus, fine. But we’re getting fish and chips on the way back, and you’re paying,”

Your mouth falls open as you chase after him, bickering indignantly. Parker emerges from some dark corner, following after you and Charlie, listening to the two of you squabbling. 

“You always get vinegar on your chips,” you whine, “why should I have to pay for something I don’t like?”  
“Because _you_ took illegal substances,”  
“Oh sure,” you snap, tossing your hair, “like you’re such an angel,”

Parker then jumps on the band wagon of grilling you about taking drugs as Charlie steers the three of you down the complex maze of hallways. 

You roll your eyes and pout and scuff your shoes.  
“You’re acting like a baby,” Parker says, tickling you under your chin. You slap him away.  
“I’m a grown _woman_ ,”  
“You’re still 3 years younger than me, and that makes you a baby,”

You’re about to reply with some equalling scathing remark, but the words die in your throat as the figure standing halfway up the hallway catches your eye.

2D. 

He's leaning against a wall, pretending to study a spec of dirt beneath his nails. You drop back so you’re flanking Charlie and Parker, and you can tell immediately that he’s not so intent on his task as he seems, because he keeps entirely motionless, listening and waiting. Your lip curls into a sly smile, and you merely toss your hair back and pretend not to have noticed him. He’ll follow you, you know he will.

But you barely get so far past him for him to follow; he reaches out before you’ve even passed him and catches your arm, pulling you against him. When you turn your head in for a kiss, you’re hardly thinking straight. You right yourself at the last minute, but it leaves you closer than you’d like; your shoulder pressed against his chest, his lips just above your ear.

“For just how much of that concert were you high?” he asks quietly. 

You smile. So he had noticed.

“Not as much as I should have been,”

2D licks his lips and exhales gently, making your hair flutter.

“Are you still high?”  
“Unfortunately not,”

You can hear his smile in his voice, even if you can’t see it.

“That’s too bad,”

Your world suddenly whirls almost sickeningly, and you register only 2D’s hand gripping your wrist, a door slamming shut somewhere to your right, and then total darkness. 

But the darkness isn’t darkness for long. In almost an instant, 2D’s body is pressed against yours, his hands gripping your arms, grinding his clothed crotch against your thigh, his lips on your neck, kissing and sucking and biting. An arousal so powerful you can almost _see_ it blazes to life almost instantly, setting your whole body alight with sensory heaven. You grip his shirt and pull him close, moaning into his mouth, teeth clashing and clacking. 

He pushes you against the edge of a sofa and you deign to sit down, pulling him to your level and wrapping your legs around his hips.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, the sound turning you on more than it should, “fuck,”

You don’t reply, just grip the collar of his shirt and pull him harder against you, kissing him with an almost feverish passion. He leans his weight onto you and you fall backwards onto the sofa, pulling him after you so he lands on top of you, not once breaking the kiss. 

You’re almost impressed.

God, how right this feels. How perfect it is to have his hands on your body and his lips on yours and his hips between your thighs. 

His hands make their way under your shirt, up to your bra, thumbs stroking over the lacy fabric. You feel him grin against your lips, and you lace your fingers into his hair, pulling him even closer and trailing your hand down his stomach to his belt, fingers brushing against the warm metal of the buckle.

“Not here,” he gasps, pulling away ever so reluctantly, hands going still, just resting on your breasts. You nod in agreement.  
“Freddy and I are sharing a room,” you whisper. He grins and kisses you chastely, and the hurriedness of it all, as well as the tantalising pull of need that hints at what is to come makes you moan against his lips.  
“Mine then, as always.”

\-------------------------

It occurs to you as 2D pushes you back into the bed that perhaps refusing to ever host these increasingly common meet ups is, in a way, a defence mechanism. When you’re not in your own environment, you can control when you leave and whether you stay.

If 2D was, say, in your hotel room right now, you would have no way of making him leave or stay afterwards outside of what _he_ wanted to do. 

But you let those thoughts take a backseat to the primal needs sparking your body into action as 2D traces his hands up and down your sides, moaning against and biting your neck as he grinds against you. 

His touch is greedy and desperate, and he doesn’t even wait for you to reciprocate his wandering touch before his hands are under your shirt again, tracing your waist and pulling you against him. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with an answering ferocity, grinding against him. 

There’s no room for cheeky banter or sharp quips. There’s only fiery kisses and urgent touches and passionate moans and gasps. 

This is so different. You aren’t in control. You don’t _want_ to be in control. You want to drown endlessly in 2D, bathe in every kiss and bite he lavishes on your skin. 

His hands wander over every inch of your body, and his kisses become increasingly desperate and bold. He strays beneath your shirt, kissing you harder as he does and pressing you into the mattress, an action you respond to all too enthusiastically, kissing him back and moaning as he squeezes your breasts gently. 

You cup his cheeks and sigh against his lips, then pull away, resting your forehead against his.

“You alright?” he asks, hands going still but not moving from their very happy place under your bra.  
You nod, and smile, momentarily overcome with sentimentality. You’re drawn back to the first time the two of you hooked up, all biting lips and clashing teeth and hands tugging and pulling off clothing as fast as possible. The contrast is startling, and not, as you think harder about it, in the best way.

Your thoughts are drawn back as 2D kisses your forehead gently, and then kisses your lips, hands trailing down your torso to your belt. He has one hand on your hip and his lips on yours as he pulls it out from the loops holding it in place, and then tosses it onto the floor. 

You cup his cheeks and kiss him a little harder, wanting to distance yourself from your dark thoughts. 

You only think about tonight. About 2D. About everything good that’s going to come of being with him, here, right now, in this moment. 

He eases your jeans down, his hands trailing across your skin as though he reveres every inch of it. As much as you love feeling his fingertips barely brushing your skin, the unintentional teasing sends your sexual frustration through the roof. You kick your jeans off hurriedly, and 2D looks up at you, perplexed.  
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, boy,” you tell him, and he grins, sliding his hands up your shins and resting them on your knees, spreading your legs open and placing himself between them, pulling himself up to kiss you.  
“I have a pretty good idea,”

He lifts your shirt slowly, and you twist your body this way and that, trying to entice him into speeding up his efforts, but to no such avail. He seems content to watch with reverence as the plains of your skin that he’s seen before are revealed to him once again. In a romantic setting, it’d set your heart a-flutter. 

But this isn’t romantic.

It isn’t.

Right now, you just want a good, quick, hard shag.

Nothing romantic about that. 

You discard your shirt to the floor and roll your shoulders slowly, then trail your hands up 2D’s already bare chest. He sits up a little between your legs, letting his hands slide down your sides, holding onto your hips for a brief second as he pulls you closer and grinds against you, making the both of you moan. 

You bite your lip.  
“Fuck, D, just please-“

He shushes you softly, and makes a show of unclipping your bra, trailing his fingertips over the intricate lace patterns, taking it off your body as delicately as one might cradle a newborn. For the first time in your adult life, you find yourself blushing at the blatant show of affection. 

He kisses down between the valley of your breasts, down your abdominal line, and eases your underwear off. You can feel his breath, soft and warm, on your lower stomach. The sensation makes you squirm a little.

“You ok?” he asks, looking up at you, hands going still. You shift again, and wrinkle your nose.  
“It just feels weird to have you _breathing_ on me,” you reply. You hear a snort, and then a short, cold blast of air hits your inner thigh, making you yelp and almost snap your thighs shut around his head. You lift yourself up onto your elbows, glaring down at him from where he grins gleefully at you from between your legs. 

“You better make up for that,” you snap. His unabashed grin turns into a coy smirk, and he puts his hands on your knees, spreading your legs a little more.  
“I will,” he purrs, “don’t you worry,”

You’re about to dispute his promise, make some witty comeback, but you don’t have a chance to. The feel of his tongue and his lips makes your head tilt back, your mouth fall open and a loud, keening cry fall from your lips. You hook your legs over his shoulders, toes curling as you grip the bedsheets and toss your head from side to side, gasping. 

“Fuck, D,” you whisper, “oh, oh my _god_ ,”

You’ve been eaten out before. You’ve been eaten out _well_ before. But this is different. It’s almost as good as, no, fuck that, this is _better_ then being on cocaine. 

This is your very own drug, and it has bright blue hair, black eyes, and is performing oral magic between your legs right this very minute. 

You’re on the brink of orgasm within not even 2 minutes, your thighs trembling, gasping for breath as your hands drag at the sheets, desperately trying to find purchase. 2D’s tongue is relentless, and your ever cry and plea only seems to spur him on. 

Your back arches and you scream in ecstasy. 2D’s grip on your thighs tightens as you cry out, and then relaxes as you slump back into the sheets, panting. He raises his head from between your legs, a triumphant grin on his face. He pulls himself up so he’s hanging over you again, and licks his lips with obscene relish.

“You still up for round 2?” he asks, that same smug smile on his face. You don’t even take a moment to catch your breath, just lean up a little and press your lips against his, kissing him fiercely. He kisses back, and grinds against you, and you barely even notice his lips leaving yours as he shrugs his shirt off. 

“Have you got condoms?” you ask as he pulls away, struggling to unbuckle his belt. He shrugs absentmindedly, and you snort, pushing his hands away and unbuckling it for him.  
“Incompetent,” you sneer, and he just sticks his tongue out at you before pouncing on you again, pinning you down and kissing you ferociously, his jeans halfway down his thighs. It takes much wriggling and writhing, but he finally manages to push them off without taking his hands off you.

In a way, it’s gratifying. He can’t seem to keep his lips, hands or eyes off you. It sparks a feeling in your chest that has nothing to do with drugs and arousal. It’s a dangerous feeling. Sparks lead to fires, and fires lead to destruction.

But you ignore those thoughts. Those thoughts are principles. Hypotheticals. What you focus on right now is the definites: 2D is definitely here, he’s definitely horny, and he definitely wants to sleep with you.

That’s enough for you. 

He kisses up and down your neck again, and you turn your head, pressing your nose against his cheek.  
“Have you got a condom?” you whisper.  
“‘Course,” he replies, sounding slightly winded, “had one in my pocket,”

You run a hand through his hair and kiss him, and he kisses back, tearing the foil with practiced ease. You briefly wonder how many girls he’s put a condom on for. Then you wonder how many girls he _hasn’t_ put a condom on for. 

You force yourself to forget, and lose yourself instead in his touch, his kisses, his ardent devotion to your pleasure.

He groans softly as he pushes into you, and you throw your head back, hit with a sudden realisation of how much you’ve wanted this. Sure, you’ve slept with a lot of people, even in the last month. But none of them were _2D_.

He knows you. You know him. You know how to unwind him. He knows how to unwind you. 

You lean up a little and capture his lips, one hand tangled in his hair, the other on his hipbone, trailing your thumb over the jut beneath his skin. His thrusts speed up a little, and he moans against your mouth, leaning on one elbow and bringing his other hand up to cup your cheek. 

There’s something different about this. He’s passionate, and eager, and his kisses still warm your skin, but you feel different, and from the way he’s touching you; with an ardent delicacy that reeks of adoration, you know he feels the same. 

He pulls away, kissing your neck and collar bone, his lips making your skin tingle, the trail of his hand down your hip making your flesh prickle with goosebumps. You shiver, and press your chest against his as he cups one of your breasts, kissing you again. You move your hand over his hip and to the small of his back, where you can feel his muscles bunching and tensing and relaxing as he thrusts into you, each thrust punctuated with a moan or a groan or a gasp.

You bite your lip, hormones and adrenaline swirling through your bloodstream, taking you higher and making you feel giddy and dizzy in all the right ways.

You gasp, intense pleasure coiling in your belly as he thrusts harder, faster, gasping and moaning and panting. A faint sheen of sweat decorates his beautiful face, and you cup his damp cheeks, kissing him all over; up his nose and across his forehead, all over his cheeks and up and down his jaw. He gazes at you with half lidded eyes, and leans closer to you, chest pressing down against yours. His teeth are clenched, and he moans through them. You kiss the tight cords of muscle in his neck, feeling them tense and shift beneath your lips. 

You’re coming undone. You shut your eyes, turning your head to the side, letting him rest his lips on your shuddering throat.

“2D,” you moan, “fuck, 2D, I’m-"

“I love you,” he gasps suddenly, hurriedly, panting against your skin, his shoulders shuddering in the way that they do whenever he’s close to orgasm. Why do you know that? That’s not an intimate detail that you should be privy to.

That catches you off guard. That was entirely unexpected. 

Your body is still wound tight with pleasure, but now your mind is confused, worried, almost scared.

“What?” you whisper, and he lifts his head from where it’s pressed against your shoulder. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half lidded, his hair is mussed up and his teeth worry at his lips as his thrusts become rougher and sloppier.  
“I love you,” he says again, voice cracking slightly as pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, “I can’t stop thinking about you. Every girl I’ve slept with, I’ve always found myself wishing they were you,”

You hate yourself for believing him. You hate yourself for arching your back and sealing your lips against his as his hips pump back and forth and your moans spill into his mouth as he brings you to the edge, and then pushes you over it. You hate the feeling of warmth, emotional warmth as well as physical, the glow in your belly that has nothing to do with the spasms of pleasure that rack your body.

You hate yourself. You hate his beguiling, seductive words. For a split second, you almost hate him, as he collapses atop you, panting, his lips against your collar bone, his hands tangled in your hair.

But you don’t hate him. You can’t. His words are true. His words hit too close to home. His words are too much of a familiar feeling for you. 

It scares you. It terrifies you, because you’d never thought before about just how close you were to admitting anything, even to yourself.

Sometimes, admitting things to yourself was harder than admitting them to other people. You could lie to other people. But from yourself, there was no hiding.

A bittersweet feeling blossoms in your lower stomach as 2D pulls out, and kisses your jaw softly. He rests his forehead against yours for a moment.

 _Swallow your pride, (Y/n)_ you think, squeezing your eyes shut, _don’t ruin this for both of you_.

You relax, and breathe out, pressing against him for a moment, and then sit up. His arm stays draped over your stomach, as though barring you from getting up.

You look down at him, and in the half darkness, the wide eyed vulnerability that he looks up at you with reminds you just how much you’ve craved this. Craved him.

“I just need the toilet,” you whisper, and lean down, kissing his forehead gently. He smiles, and draws him arm back slowly, letting you slip out of bed and pad silently to the bathroom. 

You switch the light on, and move slowly to the toilet, taking mental note of your body, trying to ground yourself. 

As you flush the toilet and move to the mirror, you stare at yourself, naked as the day you were born. Your hair is messy and your make up is slightly smudged. You try smiling at yourself, then frowning. Neither look quite right. 

You settle for a slightly sad half smile that looks almost like you’re grimacing. 

You sigh heavily, splash your face with water, and switch the light off, going back to the bed, where 2D is quite literally waiting with open arms. 

He embraces you tightly as you get back in, and presses a kiss against your shoulder. You laugh softly and shove him gently.

“Don’t be such an emotional sod,"

You settle back against the headboard and let 2D wrap his arm around your shoulders, holding you against his chest. You tuck your shoulder under his arm and rest your head on his clavicle, feeling for a cigarette and a lighter on the bedside table. Upon locating them, you put the cigarette between your lips and light it with one hand, and then toss the lighter away. You smoke silently for a few minutes, savouring the cigarette and smoking it slowly.

Your feelings threaten to bubble up to the surface, so you settle on a mundane topic, trying to take your mind off darker things.

“How’d you know I was high?” you ask after inhaling and exhaling deeply. 2D barks a laugh and takes the cigarette from you, taking a drag for himself.  
“Are you joking? If your pupils had been any bigger, nobody’d be able to tell us apart,"

You chuckle quietly, and take the cigarette back.  
“That was pretty great though,” you tell him, “one of the better trips I’ve been on,”  
“What was it, MDMA?”  
“Nah, just cocaine,”

2D snorts, and his lighter flares as he lights his own cigarette.  
“Just cocaine,” he mocks, shaking his head. You nudge him in the side.  
“Like you’ve _never_ taken cocaine,”  
“Do you really want to get into a conversation about what drugs we have and haven’t done?”  
“I’ve done E,”  
“Wow, good for you. I’ve done LSD,”  
“Of course you have. I’ve done GBH,’  
“I’ve done acid,”  
“Ever done heroine?”  
“Only once, you?”  
“Twice,” you say triumphantly. 2D takes a long drag and then laughs again, his voice soft and slightly hoarse.  
“Nothing to be proud of,"

You stare into the darkness, and then look up at 2D. His face is dimly lit up by the light of the fag, making the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones and lips more pronounced. You trail your hand over his chest, and toy with the hem of the duvet, and look away. 

You can’t keep the dark thoughts away anymore. They’re too important. You need answers.

“What are we gonna do?” you ask in a sombre tone, stubbing your cigarette out and looking up at 2D.

“Well, we could watch TV, or raid the mini fridge, or-“  
“No, D,” you mutter, “I meant with _us_ ,”

He pauses, and you feel his chest rise as he takes a deep drag on his cigarette.  
“You mean right now?”  
“I mean at all,” you say, and his arm tightens around you as you sit up and pull away a little, looking straight at him. He avoids your eye, and burns his cigarette down to the end, and turns away, stubbing it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. He remains twisted around, with his back to you. You watch him silently, and then sit up, wrapping your arms around your knees.

“D, we have to talk about this, we can’t just keep-“  
“One night stands aren’t supposed to be complicated,” he says quietly.

You watch him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

“Well, is that what this is, then?” you ask. Your heart squeezes awkwardly as 2D turns around slowly to look at you.  
“What is it to you?”

Oh how you want to fall back into his arms and kiss him. Assure him that you’re feeling all the right things, and that you want to stay, you want so, so, so desperately to stay.

But you’ve seen the way these relationships go. They glitter, they sparkle, they shine. And then they crash, they burn, and they destroy everything. 

For a moment, you catch yourself wishing neither of you were in the public eye. That you had just happened across each other, two nobodies, on a dating site or in a night club and just so happened to catch each other’s eye.

You swallow hard.

“That depends on what it is to you,”

2D twists his whole body around to face you and sits up, crossing his legs. He clasps your hands in his, holding onto them tightly, as though silently begging you to hold his too.

“I like you, (Y/n),” he says, and as he continues speaking, his voice begins to shake, “I really, really like you. You don’t even have to tease me to drive me crazy. I’ve been looking forward to this night for _months_ , I-“

You shut your eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. 

He’s saying all the wrong things, but oh god do they sound right.

Sparkling, shining, glittering. Crashing, burning, destroying. 

“(Y/n)?”

You open your eyes, and look at him, really look at the man in front of you. His dark eyes and his mussed up hair. The shadows across under his jaw, under his cheekbones, under his eyes. The tilt of his nose and the way his lips part as he breathes. The way he blinks at you, worried and apprehensive, hoping you’ll say what he wants to hear but knowing that he won’t.

“D…” you whisper, “you know what will happen,”  
“What’s gonna happen?” he demands, voice changing suddenly, “what? What is going to happen?”

Sparkling shining glittering. Crashing burning destroying. 

You shake your head, begin to pull your hands out of his.

“We can’t,” you tell him, silently begging that he’ll understand, “we c-“

He cuts you off with a kiss, a desperate plea, silencing you as he presses his lips feverishly against yours, one hand on the back of your head, the other gripping your wrist, his touch trailing up your arm, over your shoulder and up your neck, cupping your cheek as he moves closer and kisses you harder. 

The kiss is a trap. And you fall right into it. 

As he pulls away, his face lingers millimetres from yours, both of you breathing the same air. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and you bite your lip hard.

“You said you loved me,” you whisper. 2D exhales sharply, and his hand moves from your cheek into your hair as he pulls your lips against his again. You pull away immediately, tugging his wrist away from you.

“2D,” you whisper sharply, “you said it. Don’t say it if it isn’t true. Take it back,”

You feel almost childish. You’re acting rashly. Every warning light in your brain is flashing red. Huge letters are stamped across your eyes.

YOU’RE RUINING IT, they say. YOU’RE FUCKING THIS ALL UP. 

2D watches you, his eyebrows drawn together, as though he’s in pain.  
“I can’t,” he whispers back, “I can’t, I-“  
“Don’t lie! Don’t say things that aren’t true!” you hiss at him.

He suddenly whips away from you, leaving you cold and shocked. He moves back to his side of the bed.

“Well, what if it is true?!” he demands, voice loud and harsh, cutting through the silence like a knife, “what then? What do you want me to say?”

Crashing burning destroying. Your career in tatters. Your life in shreds. Your heart in pieces.

Crashing.

Burning.

Destroying. 

You ignore his pleas as you tear yourself from the bed. Tear yourself from him. You’ve let things come too far. You need to cut off everything, in one fell swoop. 

The bright lights in the hotel hallway hurt your eyes. Every sound of your running footsteps jars you, the sounds discordant and detached.

You tell yourself that it’s the sharp, cold outside air that makes it feel as though daggers are piercing your heart. Tell yourself that it’s the shivers that rack your frame that are the reason you feel as though you’re being torn apart. Tell yourself that the weight in your stomach is a side effect of the cocaine.

Because the alternative is too hard to bear.


End file.
